From Hellsing
by Urwen
Summary: “Witness, dearest children of the empire (and other far-flung lands), as the Hon. Captain Irwin B.F., C.J.D. presents, for your edification and amusement, a chilling and dreadful tale of horror, dastardly dealings and rambunctious roughhousing."
1. The Strange Case of the Scalpel

Disclaimer: If there is a goddess of fanfiction, I imagine she probably giggles a lot, is somewhat perverted and has a rather odd wardrobe. She also, alone, knows how many copyrights I have infringed with this story. I suspect the ones on some of the older books have expired by now, but nevertheless here is a list of authors/mangaka I know I have ripped off:  
Hirano Kouta  
Abram Stoker  
Howard P Lovecraft  
Lord Byron and John Polidori (for the mention)  
Alan Moore (for that ridiculous March of the Sinister Ducks' song)  
Thomas Preskett Prest  
Kim Newman  
George MacDonald Fraser  
  
Which means I am in good company as both Fraser and I are guilty of the same to:  
Thomas Hughes (he probably deserves it)  
Sir Arthur Conan-Doyle (he doesn't)  
  
Both constructive and destructive reviews are welcome.  
  
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'Dear Mr Morrison,  
  
Having read with great interest the publications of the memoirs of your esteemed ancestor, the Hon Sir Harry Paget Flashman, Brigadier-General V.C. K.C.B., K.C.I.E. I now find myself writing to you regarding a similar discovery in my own household.  
  
My name is Dr David Moran, and my second name is undoubtedly familiar to you, for reasons you can undoubtedly guess. I hope, however, we can put aside any enmity born of past insults between our two houses, and in token of my sincerity I am sending you these photocopies. No, I have not uncovered the memoirs of my infamous ancestor (I wish!), but rather a collection of letters belonging to his wife that quite frequently mention both Sir Harry and Lady Elspeth, as well as telling an interesting tale of their own. I have sent photocopies both to you and the editor of the Flashman papers in the fond hope that they may be of some use to you.  
  
Kindest regards,  
  
David Moran, M.D.'  
  
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52 Westmoreland Rd  
Barnes  
London SW  
Dec 16th, 1899  
  
"My Dear Jack,  
  
I hope you are well and that you are experiencing success in your ministrations to the unfortunates of the East End. Since I saw you last, I have interesting news to report, and since I do remember your asking that I should keep you updated in the affairs of society whilst you are busy tending to the poor, I have decided to 'pen an epistle', as it were. I would have come to visit you myself, but your father absolutely forbid it. He is most vexing, as I am sure you remember. Ah well, que sera!  
  
London is all abuzz at the approach of the new century, which everyone is sure will bring more amazing new advances in science and suchlike. There are plans for all sorts of celebrations, possibly even to match the maginficence of our beloved Queen's golden jubilee. My dear friend Elspeth has absolutely insisted that I come to her New Year Celebration. She plans to have a proper Hogmanay! Gracious, I hope there will not be bagpipes. Indeed, the party season is already in full swing. Which brings me on to the interesting occurrences, regarding which I would welcome your opinion.  
  
I am almost certain there is some connection between what I am about to relate and that dreadful business two years ago of which you refused to tell me all the details. The matter involves our friend Dr Van Helsing, which is what suggested this to me. I had thought him in the Netherlands attending to his wife, but indeed no, where should we see him but at the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society Ball! (I hear rumour they are thinking of shortening the name of the society, by the way, and a welcome change it shall be, I'm sure, for it is quite a mouthful(1)). I wondered if perhaps he was to give another of his fascinating lectures, but it seemed he was merely a guest.  
  
The doctor does not look at all well. He seemed quite pale and harassed. I wonder if perhaps his wife's illness is sapping his reserves of strength. However, it was his companion more than the good doctor himself who intrigued me. He was a most singular fellow, a foreigner I am certain, and tall as your father, easily. He was dressed sensibly enough, a brown suit, a burgundy waistcoat, but I was quite astonished to see such a tangle of thick black hair as I am sure had never seen a comb or brush for a month or more! From what little I saw of his face, he was as pale as the good doctor and as I live and breathe, his eyes were the most startling orange-red! I have seen anything resembling such a colour only once, and that was at the presentation before the Society of an albino man from Albania. Even that poor white-haired creature's eyes were merely a dark pinkish colour, and held not the hellish fires of the doctor's companion. I found myself quite disconcerted, but fascinated nonetheless, and went at once to speak to Dr Van Helsing.  
  
I enquired after his health and the health of his poor wife, and he informed me that he had been somewhat under the weather recently, and his wife was showing no signs of recovery. At this, to my astonishment, his companion gave a small chuckle. I carefully ignored this display of sheer rudeness, wished Dr Van Hellsing a speedy recovery and politely asked for an introduction. Before Dr Van Helsing could reply, the fellow had swept a deep bow and informed me in deep and accent-laced tones that he was Mr Alucard and that he was delighted to meet me.  
  
From his foreign vowels and his regal manner, I wondered if he was perhaps some Eastern European prince, visiting England incognito, as I hear they are wont to do, marvelling at the fascinations of our advanced society. But I determined not to press the matter, as such persons undoubtedly value their privacy. Besides that, his manners clearly left much to be desired, and it is up to us to give example and make a good show of it, is it not? Before I was able to think of a suitable topic for further conversation, Dr Van Helsing was accosted by several unruly medical students, and I became quite excluded from the conversation, much to my chagrin and was forced to leave.  
  
I would have thought nothing more of the matter, had I not later once again found myself in the company of the aforementioned pair. Oh, you will think me a silly old woman when I tell you this, but I have been lately finding myself going to séances. They are all the fashion among the society, a little "innocent fun". Besides, my friends will have me come with them. Apparently I quite spruce up the evenings, as I tend to point out when the ectoplasm is clearly a length of muslin and the "medium" is using foot pedals to control his frightening winds and noises. I am not really sceptic, but it is such wonderful fun to expose the frauds.  
  
The night in question, having been invited to the house of a well known man in such circles, Dr William Wynn Wescott,(2) we were to be shown an interesting technique known as psychometry, which as I am sure you know, is a means of divining information about an object and the circumstances around it psychically, simply by holding it in one's hand. It is quite fascinating, and my friends and I were all eager to witness the spectacle.  
  
Imagine my surprise at seeing Dr Van Helsing and his foreign companion at one of these events! Obviously there were a few gentlemen and ladies who had been at the ball the previous night present at the séance, so many of our circle are of an enquiring mind, but I thought Dr Van Helsing of too serious a disposition. Were the events of two years ago so paranormal as to cause such a change in him, you think? I would welcome your opinion. Myself, I remain open minded. After all, mankind has made great leaps and bounds in discovery this century, and for all we know there may be quite a logical explanation behind the planchette and suchlike, most likely something to do with psychology or somesuch. Though Dr Van Helsing was seated in the audience, I noted that his friend seemed to remain mostly on the edges of the room and often quite close to the front, and though he must have moved around a good deal, I declare I never saw him do so. He seemed almost a part of the shadows. One assumes he was invited by whatever guest brought him to the society ball, undoubtedly some friend of his, with perhaps a wife fond of the séances.  
  
To continue with the story, you may remember so years ago, your father and I attended the funeral in Thorpe-Le-Soken of a family friend, Sir William Gull?(3) His was a sad loss not only to your father to whom he was very dear, but to the Royal Household, to whom he had served faithfully as Royal Physician for many years. HHe and I often discussed the role of women in medicine. Some time after the funeral, I received a package from his son, Cameron. Contained within was a rather handsome mahogany box containing the tools of his trade, which he had apparently left to me in his will. Of course, I was absolutely flattered and sent back that I could not possibly accept them, but dear Cameron insisted, and I did not wish to press the matter further in such a delicate situation. Why he left these effects to me has always been something of a mystery.  
  
We were each asked to bring an object of personal significance, and so I thought it possible it would be both entertaining and enlightening if I were to bring an item from the box. I selected the scalpel (unwisely, as I later found) as I assumed it would have been handled most frequently and with most care and attention.  
  
And indeed, as it happened, I was called upon to present my object, which I did (there was no small amount of muttering and talk when I presented a scalpel, explaining the circumstances though mentioning no names). The medium graciously took it from me and began to focus on it. All at once, his head began to loll and he began to speak in dread tones, of death and horror and evil done by the wielder of the object. Of women torn open and wombs torn out with child still in them. Some of the more delicate ladies in the audience quite fainted away and others had to be reassured that it was all a show by their husbands.  
  
I was quite horrified, myself. Either the medium was making up some silliness to make a good spectacle of it, or, another horrifying possibility! At some point our dear friend's scalpel had been stolen by some criminal, perhaps in one of the institutions in which he served over the years and used for such dreadful deeds, or perhaps even most unethical experiments!  
  
However, it was then that Mr Alucard appeared, quite out of no-where and relieved the medium of the scalpel, at which he immediately stared at him, muttered something about 'evil' and fainted dead away, poor fellow. I swear I saw Mr Alucard examine the scalpel and then lick it! And his tongue...! I have not seen the like since I went to the museum and saw a preserved camel's tongue in formaldehyde. I wondered if perhaps it is some hereditary deformity. One hears all sorts of stories about inbreeding and other strange and disturbing practises in far flung places. 'Definitely a woman..no, several women.' He said, in that curious low voice of his, and I am sure I was the only one who heard, the medium being incapacitated. 'And yes, pregnant. Even this old, I can tell.' He turned to me and offered the scalpel, handle first. I took it, doing my best to appear unafraid, and thanked him. He bowed and walked away, seeming to melt into the shadows.  
  
By now, the poor medium was being attended to by several persons, and no-one seemed to have paid Mr Alucard and I much attention at all. It seemed that would be all for the evening. I returned to my seat and replaced the scalpel, with the full intention of cleaning it most carefully when I reached home.  
  
Well, that is all I can relate of that most intriguing story. Perhaps you have some details which can shed further light on the proceedings, if you are not still unable or unwilling to talk of such things, but do not feel pressed, I am fond of a good mystery.  
  
I remain as ever, your loving aunt,  
  
Miss Anna Seward"  
  
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Royal London Hospital  
Whitechapel Road  
London E  
Dec 18th 1899  
  
"Dearest Aunt Anna,  
  
Your news disturbs me greatly and has given me cause to send this to you by the fastest possible courier! I fear I must give you advice that will sound most improper from a nephew to his aunt, but as I have undoubted faith you are still a virgin, I suggest you marry at once! In this manner, you will cease to be of interest to the Count (whom you know as 'Mr Alucard') for it can only be he. My dearest aunt, my blood runs cold to think of you or any member of my family anywhere near that monster! We had thought him quite dead, but it seems he has done something terrible to poor Dr Van Helsing. Please, I beg of you, do not go anywhere near either of them if you can possibly avoid it. Allow Arthur, Jonathan and I to deal with the matter, we are more experienced and I fear for you should the Count ever show more than a passing interest in you.  
  
With fervent wishes for your safety, I remain yours,  
  
Dr John Seward'  
  
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52 Westmoreland Rd  
Barnes  
London SW  
Dec 21st, 1899  
  
'Dearest Jack,  
  
With luck I shall have avoided making this part of the Christmas post and it will reach you quickly. Your last letter worried me greatly, even to the point of contemplating putting aside my distastes regarding the state of matrimony and your father's obsession with my entering it. However, I do not seriously think the Count, or whatever his name is, would be interested in an old woman like me.  
  
Since my last letter, I have found occasion to read John Polidori's macabre tale (or Lord Byron's, whomever chooses to claim it(4)) and have glanced at Penny Dreadfuls, Jack and I now am fully aware than such as the Count prefers young women, like poor dear Miss Westenra and Mrs Harker. I do not fear for my life, nor my sanguine humour, and I am sure now that you are quite overreacting, though I am touched that you care for me enough to engage such an expensive courier. However, I am deeply concerned for Dr Van Helsing, even to the point where I disregarded your orders and sought him out. My enquiries were met with the response that he has returned to Holland to visit his poor wife, and undoubtedly the Count with him. He is quite out of the reach of any of us, even Lord Godalming, as no-one has an address to contact him. It is vexing indeed, but I have faith in Dr Van Helsing, and I do not believe he would be allowing the Count to walk around freely unless he had some great hold over the fiend.  
  
Nevertheless, I will be looking into the matter of a husband directly, which should please your father immensely.  
  
We shall see about that.  
  
With love and best wishes I remain your loving aunt,  
  
Miss Anna Seward' 


	2. The Tiger and the Dragon

52 Westmoreland Rd  
Barnes  
London SW  
Jun 4th, 1902  
  
"Dearest Jack,  
  
I hope you are well and your work is not tiring you too much. I am sure I have been boring you lately with tales of uninteresting society gatherings, and I must confess I have been quite bored myself, but thankfully I have an interesting occurrence to report, which quite interrupted my "ennui".  
  
London is still mourning our beloved queen, and as a result, despite the lovely weather, there is still little gaiety. However, the sullen humour does not seem to have dampened the spirits of some of my friends! You may remember I told you I had been invited to a little get-together at the townhouse of my dear friend Lady Elspeth Flashman? Well, that is where I met a most singular gentleman, of whom I shall now write. You must forgive my memory, if the details of our conversations are not exactly accurate. I have written down everything I could remember. Gracious, my epistles are turning into quite the little narratives, are they not?  
  
I had become bored with the chatter and had gone to the verandah. Elspeth's gardener (a strapping fellow, quite admired by some of the younger ladies) has trailed some lovely scented honeysuckle over the woodwork, so it is an excellent out-of-the way place to sit and take the air. Imagine my surprise when upon arriving there, I found the wooden seat behind the door occupied by a most singular gentleman. Such startling blue eyes, such a deeply lined brow!  
  
He looked up as I entered the porch, though I am sure I was very quiet. I wondered if he was some other guest of the Flashmans' who had similarly gone out seeking the peaceful scented veranda. I asked him so, and he replied that he had indeed come here seeking peace. In a manner of speaking. Ignoring his cryptic reply, introduced myself, and offered my hand. He looked at it as if it were some sort of wild animal before taking it, grinning and informing me that he was Colonel Sebastian Moran, formerly of the 1st Bengal Pioneers.(5)  
  
Oddly, he then appeared to be waiting, clearly for some sort of reaction from me. At the time, of course, I had no idea who he was. I do not often read the popular press, you see, and the incident in question was some years ago, but I will come to that presently.  
  
After not having given him the response he clearly expected, I informed him that I was delighted to meet him. This seemed to surprise him somewhat, especially when I seated myself beside him and admired the sunset. I was certainly not going to let the presence of another ruin my enjoyment of the evening! Thankfully, he was fairly quiet himself. However, he seemed restless and presently he spoke again and informed me I had chosen a most inopportune time and place to take the air, for he was certainly no person with whom a respectable lady should be conversing. Surprised, I informed him in no uncertain terms that there was no need for him to try and scare me in such a manner, and he need only ask me to leave if he found my presence discomforting. Dismayed, he asked if his name was familiar to me, or that of someone named 'Moriarty'. Of course it was not, and I informed him so. He seemed to be getting quite frustrated. He then insisted that I must know of Mr Sherlock Holmes, which was a name I had indeed vaguely heard of, but as I went on to tell him, I move in neither military nor legal circles, as you know.  
  
He sighed and commented that he did not suppose it would matter at all after tonight. I enquired as to why, but he was most rude in response. I suggested it had something to do with the gun beneath his jacket.  
  
I am not quite as unobservant or 'scatterbrained' as your father maintains.  
He said something in a foreign language. It may have been Bengali or Hindi. I am not certain, but it was certainly a swearword. It seemed I had irritated a man with a gun. I must confess, I became quite nervous. At times, I wish I was not quite so impetuous. He d-mned and cursed some more in english and muttered that he was getting too old and something about wanting his 'Von Herder' back from those blasted police-wallahs because no-one ever spotted that when he was carrying it, unlike these 'blasted great revolvers'. I asked him who he intended to use the gun on, thinking I may as well be shot for a sheep as a lamb. He smiled quite disconcertingly and informed me it was the owner of the house, and possibly me if I continued being a meddling busybody and he should certainly have done so by now, if I had not arrived at that particular moment.  
  
His rudeness was positively incensing me, as I am sure you and any respectable person would understand, and I became very rash, I am sorry to say. I positively forbade him from shooting Sir Harry, whose wife, I said, was a very good friend of mine. One does say some very silly things when under strain. Nevertheless, it seems to have been effective, for he sighed and sat back. He told me I was quite right, and he should have 'gone straight for Holmes the minute he got back to England' for 'the cunning drug-addled "badmash" fiend was probably watching as we spoke'. He then swore again and insisted his grudge against Sir Harry went further back and these things should be done in order.  
  
I asked him if he intended to shoot half of London society. He laughed and said, 'perhaps later he would continue with Lestrade'. Another legal or military name that is unfamiliar to me. I told him I was sure he would be caught directly he started shooting, and besides, it was far too late now, as I had only to scream and I was sure people will come running. Then he should either have to fire on me, or give himself up.  
  
He emitted a quite explosive laugh.  
  
I was by now somewhat intrigued, the danger I was in on the verge of being forgotten. I told him that he had better start his tale from the beginning. I am sure I very nearly induced an apoplectic fit in him. I asked him to explain to me what dear old Sir Harry could have done to cause him to return to England from India. He retorted that he had not been in India. I said he could explain that in his story. He sighed and pressed a hand to his lined brow in annoyance. I informed him that I enjoyed a good story I could write to you about and (I am ashamed to admit my cowardice in this, but I thought I had seen a way out of the danger) I said if he told me a good story, I should allow him to walk away, gun and all, and I should not even inform anyone of his presence here. I was, of course lying. I intended to go to Sir Harry and the authorities directly, at first anyway. Otherwise, I said, I should scream, or be shot, which would bring everyone running. He said I was 'a quite dmnably impudent "memsahib"' and that if I was his wife, he should be advocating "suttee".  
  
I agreed, and told him once again to begin with his grudge against Sir Harry. He stared at me with those disconcerting blue eyes of his. I simply smiled and waited, praying I would come out of this alive. Finally he sighed, and agreed, bemoaning that this was a ridiculous idea anyway and 'Big-d, he should never have listened to that appalling d-mned persuasive Alucard fellow egging him on...'  
  
And here, dearest Jack, you have probably become as suddenly interested as I at the time. It could only have been the same person, to induce quite such a streak of swearing as Colonel Moran then painted the air blue with. I asked if this Mr Alucard was by any chance, a foreign gentleman, with a shock of black hair and very little taste in dress? He nodded and said that if we had met, then I had quite a propensity for running into dangerous rogues, which set me thinking, I should say. I said it was no fault of my own and this was only two so far, not including the diamond thievery in Tottenham Court Road and the costermonger I accidentally interrupted last week. I seemed to have put him in a much better humour, because he laughed quite heartily, and a little frighteningly. Then he immediately stopped and turned to me, saying that if I must know, Miss Seward, my friend's husband, 'dear old Sir Harry' was among the men responsible for selling him into slavery as a boy.  
  
I will confide in you, Jack, that this did not surprise me. I had often suspected Sir Harry of being a bit of a scoundrel from the way he eyes the young ladies, and foolish things are often done in men's youth. I am sure he regrets his past misdeeds though. Colonel Moran continued in kind that he had 'nearly got him, back in '94, but that cocaine-raddled... Holmes got to me first with a chitrali's trick and sent me to college"' He then asked if I minded if he had a 'cheroot'. I must confess, his soldier's talk left me quite confounded. Uncertain, I said I did not. He then proceeded to produce from nowhere and light a foul-smelling cigarette. I withstood it and prayed him continue with his tale. He did so, shaking out his match and through a mouthful of cigarette. He really was a most uncouth fellow. He continued in kind.  
  
'Well, off to college I went, of course. That'd be prison to ladies like you, memsahib. Thankfully I had a fair bit of paisa left over from what the Professor paid me. Enough for a decent lawyer anyway, enough to get me off hanging.' I thought this quite despicable, you understand, Jack and probably an indication of the decay of the legal system. He continued in this vein. There he had languished for some good few years, till along came some 'political cove'.. He said he had done some 'political work' in his day, and d-mned if he was keeping this all hush hush, the man had offered bail if he did some more, i.e. if he did a little shooting. Apparently their last team of 'politicals' had 'bought it' in 'that epidemic back in '99, remember, when they had to evacuate the city?' As you will no doubt understand, I was quite confused by this. Later, I realised he was referring to acting as a spy for the government, but undoubtedly you know that, and you will remember the evacuation. There were articles about it in all the journals. I do not know whether you were still in Europe at the time though.  
  
Apparently he agreed, and the government fellow informed him 'it was a bit of rum do', or somesuch and that he should not be surprised if he saw things a bit out of the ordinary, but he maintained he was used to this, having spent some time around 'the Professor'. He had no idea the extent of this 'rum do', however. At this, I swear I saw the Colonel shudder. Shocking, is it not, that something could send a shiver down the spine of a man like him? I did wonder if I wanted to hear the rest of this story at that point, but I had gone this far, so it seemed best to continue, and besides, he seemed to be enjoying himself up until the rum.  
  
Now I write this, I begin to wonder if perhaps I have been made privy to some great state secret? For prudence's sake, Jack, I shall ask you not to repeat what I discuss in these letters.  
  
Colonel Moran continued that he was informed he was to use the pseudonym 'Tiger'. He seemed to find this appropriate, and grinned, and that he would be working with another political, who would be known as 'Dragon'. It all sounds positively chinese, doesn't it? They were to be a small team, for ease of travel and to go about under the guise of business partners looking to set up ventures in the East of the empire. This did not seem odd to me at the time. I had only heard the usual talk about the mutiny, and knew little or nothing of the region of Afghanistan, other than that we had fought a few battles there. As I said, I do not move in military circles. I feel quite embarrassed at my ignorance sometimes.  
  
His release papers were signed, and within a day or two, he had met his associate, in some vaguely described location in Limehouse that I pray I never visit. He elaborated for several minutes on the wonderful guns he was provided with, Lee-Enfield-Metfords and Modified Bolt-Actions and Martinis and Webleys (though not, he bemoaned, his Von Herder), before meeting a man who from the description can only be our Mr Alucard (or rather, the Count!), although he was dressed a little differently (apparently he actually wore a top hat!). The Count did not speak at all, until they were alone, on a boat bound for the Mediterranean and then only to break totally with accepted protocol and inform the Colonel of his name (though he did not see fit to give either his true name, nor his nature). The Colonel apparently found this refreshing and did likewise, enquiring of Mr Alucard's reasons for taking up this mission. He replied, with a cryptic grin that he was being rented out to the British government in exchange for some peace of mind for a doctor friend of his.  
  
This of course meant nothing to the colonel, but I became very worried for Dr Van Helsing. Unfortunately, at present, no-one is certain of his whereabouts.  
  
Returning to the Colonel and our friend the Count (who spent a great deal of time below decks, apparently!), their journey across the Mediterranean was almost uneventful, apart from one incident in one of the Balkan ports (which the Count apparently insisted on referring to as 'Illyrian' and commenting wistfully that he was passing so close to home). Apparently, a young girl was found dead, shortly after the Count went missing for a few hours. I had to prevent myself asking if she had been exsanguinated. Colonel Moran was quite white-faced with anger at the incident and informed me, he had later found 'Mr Alucard' with a set of drunken Gypsies, who were treating him like a long lost cousin!  
  
They proceeded to the Middle East, where they were met in Smyrna by a little Indian man. He greeted them with 'God Save the Queen'. Deplorably, neither were particularly cheerful about that sentiment, but replied in kind, nonetheless. He gave them their orders, and disappeared into the crowd.  
  
It seemed there was a tribe of Northern Pathans who kept (as Colonel Moran put it) 'Disappearing' British officials sent to treat with them. The only survivor had ridden into Peshawar and fallen off his horse, gibbering about great sandy demons and horrible sorcerous "amirs". I can only guess that, finding themselves facing a supernatural enemy, the British government felt they should send a supernatural monster and a supernaturally good shot (if the Colonel's boasts are true) to find out the details of the matter and deal with it. This is turning into quite the adventure story, is it not? Perhaps I should write for those young boys' papers.  
  
The journey between the Mediterranean and Afghanistan, by horse, caravan or train is perilous at the best of times, Colonel Moran said, but for them it seemed unusually uneventful. The night was full of noises, horrible screams and such, and he was under constant fear of attack from Ottomans and Arabs and Kaffirs and possibly Russians, despite the number of guns her late majesty's 'politicals' had provided him with, but no attacks came. They reached Afghanistan having experienced only a few minor skirmishes, which the Colonel quickly ended with his 'Martini-Henry' (a gun he informed me he had used in the Afghan campaigns and trusted implicitly over the newer Enfield models, of which more later). Mr Alucard, apparently did not participate, but remained under large hats during the day. I did not find this surprising, and neither did the colonel, who one assumes has met some rather singular fellows in his time!  
  
The one incident of note, according to the colonel, who turned a surprising shade of white at the mere recollection, occurred somewhere near the borders of Afghanistan. A small party of bandits with "jezails" (I am guessing this is some kind of native gun) attacked the caravanserai they were travelling with (unsuprisingly, such caravans are most obliged to have heavily armed men travelling with them). They formed a defensive ring and the Colonel began shooting. The gunfire was at its peak when a terrifying shriek split the night in two, like that of a man crying out in horrified agony. The gunfire from the bandit side abruptly stopped, and cries of 'Allah preserve us!' were heard, and the sound of running. The folk of the caravanserai were quite reluctant to leave the safety of their transport, much to Colonel Moran's disgust. He left them and ventured out into the night in the direction of the scream, his Martini at the ready.  
  
What he found there, was apparently enough to terrify him even as he spoke to me, for he broke out in a cold sweat as he recounted, and certainly the though of it is enough to make me quite pale even now! A great black shape, somewhat resembling a dog, somewhat a flock of bats, and somewhat the very night itself (I do apologise for my melodramatic description, but I am quoting the Colonel here), loomed over the mutilated form of a dark skinned tribesman. As the colonel approached, the monster turned its terrible head towards him and fixed him with a piercing red glare. The colonel informed me that he had only seen such eyes once before: in Bengal he crawled down a drain to dispatch a man-eating tiger that had taken refuge there. The tiger was particularly intelligent. Apparently it had eaten two "ghee" salesmen and a "punkah wallah" by creeping up on them unsuspecting. The natives were claiming that it was a "rakshasa" demon, or perhaps a witch who had taken on the form of a tiger. As he crawled down into the pitch-dark drain, and found himself facing the man eater, who was eight feet from nose to tail, the tiger regarded him in a manner that made it quite clear it regarded him as a piece of moving meat: such was the gaze that met him on the Afghan border, as he faced that eldritch horror. They remained, man and monster, as so for some minutes, as the Colonel said he was used to staring down tigers. At times, if one stared at them for long enough, they would simply lope away. So, in time, did the monster, to his great relief. However, when he returned to the camp, he found Mr Alucard waiting for him, and as he approached to ask why the man had not joined in the battle, he found his companion regarding him with the self-same gaze.  
  
It did not take a genius to perform the necessary mathematics. And by the manner in which he smiled and turned away, Colonel Moran swore that Mr Alucard simply knew when he had realised the truth of the matter.  
  
I do not doubt that the Count can assume such a shape: he can only be a demon of some sort. I pray I never cross paths with him again. It seems there is no end to his evil ways. I am surprised that he was so quiet and meek around the Colonel, performing his depravities where they would not be witnessed. Perhaps he respected him, or was unsure of him? I do not know.  
  
When at last they reached the Afghan-Indian borderlands, which as I am sure you are aware, are the tribal homelands of the Pathans, there was some deliberation. Their orders were to exercise stealth and caution in approaching the camp of the tribe (it was summer, and they had moved to the mountain pastures, which apparently would have made matters easier had they wished to approach quietly - there would be more places to hide). Colonel Moran did not like this idea: The Pathans, who knew the area far better than they did, would catch them easily, he said. Better to go to the chieftain as British envoys, heads held high, than spies. The Count agreed, as this suggestion seemed to appeal to his pride. Also, the Colonel said, if they were accepted as guests, the "pukhtunwali" (which is the code by which the Pathans live) would forbid them from harm for at least three days according to the custom of "melmastia". Even an enemy who came to the door of a Pathan asking for hospitality would be welcomed according to this code.  
  
This they did, and eventually found themselves standing before the chieftain in his tent. The chieftain was a great strapping fellow, striking in looks and strong-jawed, with several missing teeth (the colonel's description was less flattering than mine!). All his people seemed to treat him with great deference, almost fear, bowing and scraping before him, and Colonel Moran (who thankfully spoke reasonable "pukhtun") said he found him quite disconcerting, but did not understand why until later. 'Mr Alucard' remained very quiet during discussions, perhaps to avoid the confusion his most un-british accent would have caused. It was accepted, indeed seemed to have been expected, that they had arrived to speak about matters political and they were offered fine food and drink and other such things. When at last they were left alone, The Count voiced his concern. He did not believe the chieftain intended to allow them to live beyond three days, nor did he believe the chieftain was all he seemed. The Colonel quite agreed and ventured to ask what the Count believed would be the best course of action. The Count said he was uncertain, as he had no experience with Afghanis, though a little with Mussulmen whom he did not trust as far as he could throw them. Colonel Moran suggested 'scarpering' there and then and returning with a selection of Her Majesty's finest. The Count added that intrigued as he was, he had no wish to remain among these Mohammedan pigs and would be quite happy to go.  
  
And so, under cover of the night, they made ready to escape. It is not too difficult to escape from a tent, thankfully. As they left the camp, a strong wind rose up, and blasted sand into their faces and out of the night, a terrible voice asked them in pukhtun where they thought they were going.  
  
The Count apparently responded to this by, to the Colonel's horror, dissolving into a cloud of bats, and was promptly buffeted and thrown around in the swirling sandstorm, which was beginning to shave the skin off Colonel Moran's face and hands. The sandstorm informed them in the chieftain's voice that it was "al-afreet", the indestructable, son of a "marid" of the Caspian shoreline and that the infidels' monster would be scattered to the four winds for daring to insult his hospitality by running away. By now, the Colonel was sick of being sandpapered. He took shelter behind some nearby rocks, as out in the storm, a pulsating cloud of blackness fought against the howling wind. It seemed the situation was quite hopeless. He took stock of his resources. There were his guns, and there was Mr Alucard. He racked his brain for a solution and finally remembered being informed by an old Uzbek rifleman that "djinns" and their greater cousins the "afreets" were vulnerable only in the form of a man, and then only to holy things. He hunted through the equipment that had been given to him and found what he was looking for. At first, he had thought the politicals foolish for providing him with silver and gold bullets, as these were essentially useless for doing any damage. It was then he noticed that some of the gold bullets were engraved in arabic, namely with "suras" from the "koran" (I do not know if I have spelled this correctly). It seemed this was his only hope.  
  
He stepped into the storm (noting that the cloud of black bats was burgeoning more strongly against the wind) and called the name of the afreet-chieftain, invoking the Pathan customs of honour and bravery and crying shame upon his intention to harm a guest. He challenged the chieftain's honour in attacking enemies clearly weaker than him and insisted he fight him on level ground, in human form. The storm dropped immediately and coalesced into the chieftain, who promptly drew a sword and informed them in a rage that even in this weak form he would easily defeat them, and charged. The black cloud coalesced into the form of Mister Alucard, directly in his way. The sword sliced through the count's form as if it had been air! Colonel Moran seemed to scarcely believe this himself, as he glanced at me as he spoke, as if asking if I thought him mad, and added that he did not care if I did not believe him, he had seen all these things with his own eyes. I neither confirmed nor denied this. I did not think you mad, Jack, when you told me of the Count and poor Miss Westenra, and I do not think him so either.  
  
The Colonel found himself surrounded by blackness, which promptly informed him to do whatever he was planning before the chieftain found his way through. He needed no persuasion, and loaded the most suitable and modern of his guns, a Short Magazine Lee-Enfield (apparently a prototype fresh from the workshops!(6)) with the golden bullets. He did not expect much of his shot, as the soft metal of the bullets would undoubtedly deform on firing, but nevertheless, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder. The blackness around him shifted, revealing the chieftain a scarce few feet away from him and to the left. He moved, aimed and fired before the man could react. The bullet pierced his heart and was followed by several more in close succession. He froze, astonished, before crumpling to the floor, at which, the count fairly came apart with his eagerness to pounce upon the prone chieftain and maul him, lapping and consuming and destroying (the very thought makes me shiver). Then, more to the astonishment of his attacker than anything, the chieftain's slaughtered form crumbled into a pile of sand, which sank and spread out until it was nothing more than part of the ground, leaving the Count spitting grit out of his unholy mouth.  
  
After having returned to his normal form, he broke into hearty laughter and clapped the Colonel on the shoulder, commending him on an excellent fight and a devious bit of trickery. Having dispensed with all pretence, he informed him that he was the best human hunter he had ever seen. Colonel Moran apparently seethed internally at the condescension and said nothing, but gave none-too-pleased looks, which only caused the Count to laugh harder and bare his fangs, before insisting the Colonel showed him how those metal objects that shot fire worked.  
  
On the return journey, the Count's stolid humour seemed to have melted away. He spent the journey teasing and baiting the Colonel in a most irritating manner about his incarceration, and tricking him into revealing his past, before insisting that it would be a great dishonour to a hunter of his calibre if he did not avenge himself on his enemies directly he returned to England. Colonel Moran did not find himself disinclined to agree, despite his wearyness from the years in prison. It seems the Count is the one who drove him into taking steps against Sir Harry! Although perhaps I give him greater credit than he deserves in the matter.  
  
That aside, the Colonel then asked me, quite politely if, as his story was now finished, he would be permitted to 'make good his escape'. I agreed, although by now I had quite forgotten about the gun, so intrigued was I. As he spoke, he produced a cheap silver cartridge pen and a card from the pocket of his jacket and wrote something on it. After I had assented, he made a small bow and presented the card to me, Before turning on his heel and stepping from the veranda and making his escape across the moonlit garden into the night. Upon the paper was an address. I placed the card in my purse and thought nothing more of it, then I returned to the party, where I spent the rest of the evening in idle chatter. In all honesty, I was not altogether certain that I had not fallen asleep on the veranda and dreamed the whole conversation!  
  
Now I must leave off, for I have filled several pages with this letter already. I hope it entertains you suitably. I remain, as ever, your loving aunt.  
  
Miss Anna Seward"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Royal London Hospital  
Whitechapel Road  
London E  
Dec 18th 1899  
  
"Dear Aunt Anna,  
  
Please forgive the shortness of my letters, as I rarely have long to write. I hope you, father and mother are well. I read you last letter with intrigue and more than a little worry. I certainly hope the entire matter was a dream, although it seems too vivid to be so. Your Colonel is quite correct when he says you have a talent for running into dangerous rogues. You have clearly had a lucky escape. I have not been able to make contact with Dr Van Helsing, despite repeated efforts, and I pray for his safety. If as your letter suggests, he is still in the country, he must have hidden particularly well. Otherwise, matters are much as normal here at the hospital.  
  
Hoping your uncanny luck will continue,  
  
Your nephew,  
  
Dr John Seward"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
52 Westmoreland Rd  
Barnes  
London SW  
Jun 4th, 1902  
  
"Dearest Jack,  
  
Do not trouble yourself over the shortness of your letters, I understand that you are very busy. It seems I was not dreaming at all. Out of curiosity, I wrote a letter and sent it to the address Colonel Moran gave me and he has replied, explaining that after our discussion he went directly to the political gentlemen he mentioned to report back. They were quite surprised and had clearly assumed him dead. Apparently Mr Alucard had not been seen since the two of them parted when the ship they were travelling on came into port in Southampton, but it was assumed he had returned to the person he referred to as his 'master'. I wish now I had had the presence of mind to ask the Colonel in my letter to find out, if he could, the whereabouts of Dr Van Helsing. The gentlemen informed him he was free to go, as long as he kept a low profile and did nothing 'stupid'. Better that they do not know, I suppose! Strangely, I do not think he will do anything of the sort. I am not altogether certain why he has given up on Sir Harry or that other fellow, but after he had explained the above, he commented that 'there are far worse monsters on this earth than either him or the professor' and he felt himself 'quite outclassed and dispirited'. I do not know what to think of this matter at all.  
  
I remain as ever, your loving aunt,  
  
Miss Anna Seward"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Royal London Hospital  
Whitechapel Road  
London E  
Dec 18th 1899  
  
"Dearest Aunt Anna,  
  
It is no wonder you drive father to distraction, when you so freely and easily give an insane criminal access to your home address! I only hope you are correct about your colonel's behaviour. If you find any reason whatsoever to believe you are not, I urge you to move to safer premises at the earliest opportunity, and please, under no circumstances attempt any further conversation with this fellow!  
  
Your (deeply concerned!) nephew,  
  
Dr John Seward"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
52 Westmoreland Rd  
Barnes  
London SW  
Jun 4th, 1902  
  
"Dearest Jack,  
  
I am touched by your concern for my safety, but really, you are beginning to sound very much like your father. It cannot be healthy. As it happens, the Colonel and I have already been conversing to great extent, and have developed quite a fondness for each other. In fact, we intend to marry as soon as possible, which as you recommended, should dispense with any vulnerability I may have to beings such as our friend the Count. It is all quite humorous, is it not?  
  
Your father is, of course, absolutely livid.  
  
Despite any appearances to contrary, I remain your loving aunt,  
  
Miss Anna Seward."


	3. A Matter of Some Urgency

52 Westmoreland Rd  
Barnes  
London SW  
Mar 23rd, 1903  
  
Dearest Jack,  
  
I hope you are in good health and that all is well in the hospital. Here is my latest epistle, with what I hope will be exciting news. Now that all the wedding fuss is over, I feel I have time to write to you again. Thank you ever so much for the gifts, and also for not informing your father about the Colonel's less-than-ideal past. I believe he was left with the impression my husband is a military man newly returned from service in India, and I believe that will do nicely.  
  
I must confess, after all the recent hullabaloo, it seemed unusually quiet at home. I have been longing for a bit of excitement, as the spring parties have been somewhat dull lately and quite subdued. Perhaps I am getting older and enjoy them less. No sooner had I begun to think of this, when my mind turned to poor Dr Van Helsing. I was almost certain he was still in London. The matter involving the Count and my husband of which I wrote to you may have confirmed it, and John agrees, and though he would not tell me what the two of you spoke of regarding "our Eastern European friend".  
  
Once I had mentioned it the Colonel became quite interested and suggested we began a search for the good doctor. I informed him you had already tried to ascertain his whereabouts, without success. He said that you had probably only tried the usual channels, and it would be a 'd-mned clever cove' who could hide from the people he knew in London town. He said he would put the word out, as there were a few who owe him favours. I did not ask who 'the few' were, as they are undoubtedly some criminal element, of which no civilised citizen knows, nor indeed cares to know.  
  
We heard nothing more of it until a week later when a scruffy young urchin appeared at the door with a message for 'Tiger Jack' and informed us that he'd seen a "red-eyed devil wi' a funny voice a-coming and going from warehouse in Clapton and sometimes a great black dog as well" and also a fellow matching the doctor's description at the window. The Colonel gave him a shilling and a sent him on his way after obtaining directions to said warehouse.  
  
I hope you will not be too upset about my putting myself in danger once again, but the Colonel and I proposed to investigate (he, at least considers me a worthy companion in a scrape!), and so we did, however, we thought it best to do so in daylight, when the Count would be at his rest. We went directly to the warehouse, and were forced to break the door in, much to the surprise of Dr Van Helsing, who was within, as well as a large coffin, which I guessed instantly was the vile fiend's resting place. At first the doctor seemed ready to fight us, but when I called out to him who I was, he responded, recognising me as your aunt. After we had ascertained that the Count was dead to the world, if you will forgive the pun, we began a hasty conversation, for Dr van Helsing constantly cast nervous glances towards the dark, squat box in the corner of the warehouse. We asked how long he had been here, and he related his tale to us.  
  
It seems that ever since I saw the Count and he at the psychometry séance, the two had been in service to her late Majesty's government. This we had guessed from his presence on the Colonel's mission, but there was more. It seems there is a branch of her majesty's secret services that deals with supernatural creatures and matters pertaining to them. As soon as they became aware of the Count's entry into this country (sadly, long after they could have been any help in rescuing any of his earlier victims) they went to Dr van Helsing, to whom at that point in time, the Count was being particularly subservient, and offered help in controlling his monster, return for the monster's co-operation in certain "tasks" they needed completing. Since at that point, the Count was uncertain, defeated and dispirited, he seemed willing to take orders from the doctor. Now, it seemed, that he had been manipulating the doctor into not striking while he was weakest and destroying him once and for all, playing on the possibility of redemption. All had proceeded apparently according to plan, until some time the doctor thought to be late last year, when they had been moved to this hideout without any explanation, told to wait for further orders and heard nothing more. The doctor confided that he did not think his erstwhile employers would ever return with the promised help, and the Count had been growing in power, wandering the streets of the east end of nights and slaughtering the innocent and stealing food for his 'master' a title which he used quite mockingly, he was quite sure.  
  
At this point my husband told him to buck up, and offered him an aniseed ball from the paper bag he had been carrying with him. I thought this a little flippant, but the Colonel is given to odd behaviour. I added that we would certainly do all in our power to bring him out of this predicament, and this the Colonel seconded. At this, the doctor seemed to brighten out of the melancholy humour which had clearly been affecting him as much as malnutrition, and lack of sleep.  
  
We left, after the doctor had made us promise not to return unless completely necessary in case the Count became aware we had visited, and after promising that we should find a solution as quickly as possible to remove him from his purgatory. On the way home, the Colonel kindly gave the remains of his sweets to a passing urchin I have been racking my brains ever since, and my husband has been making plans of his own, battle plans he calls them, but confides that he can think of no sufficient force short of his majesty's entire cavalry to release the good doctor. Nevertheless, I refuse to break my promise.  
  
I remain, as ever, your loving aunt  
  
Mrs Anna Moran  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Royal London Hospital  
Whitechapel Road  
London E  
Mar 26th, 1903  
  
Dearest Aunt Anna,  
  
I read your last letter in surprise and bewilderment. This is wondrous news! I am even prepared to relax some of my attitudes towards your husband, on hearing that he was able to locate our friend. I was eager to ask you Dr van Helsing's location, but then thought better of it, given his request that you not return to visit him, and also considering another occurrence. A little street urchin was brought into the hospital yesterday, drained of all blood with two tiny bite marks at his throat, and in his pocket dear aunt, a paper bag of aniseed balls! Your husband is certainly a cunning one, and ruthless to boot. I wish you all the best of luck in keeping your promise, and should you require the help of a physician, or of John Seward himself, please send a telegram or messenger and I shall be there at once. I have quite given up trying to discourage you from these adventures of yours. If father could not do it, I doubt I can for I have not his force of character, and besides that, you are clearly in capable, if worrying hands.  
  
Hoping your luck continues to hold out,  
  
Dr John Seward  
  
-------------------------------  
  
52 Westmoreland Rd  
Barnes  
London SW  
April 5th, 1903  
  
Dearest Jack,  
  
I hope you are well and all goes well at the hospital. Responding to your letter of the 26th with further developments regarding our Dutch friend, we believe we have hit upon a possible solution.  
  
Perhaps you will remember my mention of the seances my friends insist on dragging me along to? I thought perhaps since our problem was a supernatural one, I should seek among those conversant in supernatural matters for an answer. I sent an epistle to Dr Wescott explaining the situation and asking for his aid. He informed me that he was very busy at the moment, something about trouble among his fellow magical practitioners regarding the legitimacy of certain rites, but it just so happened that there was a practised occultist of his acquaintance visiting the country from New Orleans, one well versed in dealing with evil beings, by the name of Charles-Laurent de Marigny(7), who he was sure would be quite willing to help us, being fond of adventure and suchlike. I sent a letter to Monsieur de Marigny immediately (as well as one thanking Dr Wescott for his aid) and received a very enthusiastic response. M. de Marigny was apparently finding the lecture tour on which he was engaged quite tedious and, sensing the urgency of my letter asked that we visit him immediately.  
  
We did so, last Wednesday. He was housed in rather embarrassingly poky rooms in Bankside (I really feel they could have done better), in which he seemed to have piled a great many books and papers and mystical implements (I do not know whether he brought them with him from America, but if he did, I expect he will have required a entire package steamer all to himself!). M. de Marigny himself was a man apparently advanced in years, though still slim, dark and saturnine and with the youthfulness that certain such men seem to possess. We exchanged the usual niceties, he told us of Madame de Marigny and his little son, Etienne-Laurent back in New Orleans, but it seemed he was in a great hurry to get to the matter in hand, and so we did. He produced books, describing the 'Nosferatu' or Vampire (a subject with which we are all familiar) and then went on to tell us all sorts of quite unbelievable tales (though perhaps I should be more open-minded, considering all that I have heard of and indeed, seen) about sleeping, creatures with names that I shall not even try to pronounce, let alone spell, and how they were imprisoned on our earth by the Elder Gods. The sort of things that would make a Disruption Free Church Pastor full of fire and brimstone quiver in his hobnailed boots! The gist of it was, he knew of a sigil, a sigil given to humanity as a sign of the protection of these gods. It was with this sigil that the awful horrors he described were kept locked away. A sigil of such power, he hoped, when accompanied with the appropriate incantations and suchlike would be sufficient to control our friend the Count, to bring him under the permanent sway of Dr van Helsing, a humble servant. He showed us this sigil, informing us that it is thought to trace the path of Venus through the night sky over the course of time. At this point, I must say I had to suppress a laugh, and I saw the Colonel's mouth twitch in hidden amusement. The sigil seemed to be nothing more than a simple five pointed star, such as children will chalk on a blackboard when they are drawing the night sky. But then, is not the cross, which so many people draw over themselves as protection from evil, a simple sign with greater connotations? Who can say what certain idle scribblings may truly represent...  
  
That aside, we have determined to act as soon as possible. M. de Marigny has drawn up the appropriate names of power in Hebrew and a strange script he calls 'Enochian'. We shall go to Dr van Helsing's warehouse, or prison I should say and perform the rites while the fiend sleeps in his coffin and thusly bind his evil power. Hopefully Dr van Helsing will be willing. I am asking you to join us, dear Jack (if you can get time off from your duties). I am sure you will be eager, and the danger of no consequence to you. I believe it is unfair that I have left you out of this so far, especially considering the effort you have been putting in on Dr van Helsing's behalf. We will be having a meeting to plan the endeavour on the 8th. I will have the butler put out your favourite teacakes in anticipation.  
  
Yours in earnest hope and prayers my luck continues to hold,  
  
Mrs Anna Moran  
  
P.S. I asked the Colonel about the aniseed balls, but he merely smiled through his whiskers and avoided the subject in a most vexing manner.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
Royal London Hospital  
Whitechapel Road  
London E  
  
Dearest Aunt Anna,  
  
Wild horses and cholera outbreaks could not keep me away from this! I have telegraphed Arthur, but he is unable to come to London in time and wishes us the best of luck. I shall see you and the Colonel on the 8th.  
  
Yours in great anticipation,  
  
Dr John Seward


	4. Epilogue and Notes

Very little further is known of Colonel and Mrs Moran. The great detective himself implies the Colonel is still alive in 1914. The parish record of their marriage seems to have been lost, I know as I have looked for it. However, I can volunteer the following information, as it came from my grandfather, who was born in 1905. I would like to say there is a happy ending to this story, but there isn't. As you may remember, Mrs Moran was of an advanced age, far too advanced to be having children. She died giving birth to my grandfather, James Moran (this choice seems a little distasteful if I am correct after whom they named him) who was brought up mostly by nurses and governesses as far as my father could gather and as a result was rather a distant man, and equally distant to his children, my father, Sebastian, and my two aunts, Gertrude and Eugenie. My great grandfather never spoke to his son about this or any of his exploits, which is a great pity, considering. Nothing further is known of Dr van Helsing, or even whether their attempt at leashing in the Count was successful, but I assume it must have been, as we're not all vampires now, are we? It has become a tradition for the eldest son in our family to become a doctor (apparently my grandfather was particularly fond of his cousin Jack and decided to emulate him), but then I hear this sort of thing happens a lot in medical families. My maternal aunt Sarah is a nurse and my sister is a surgeon. My nephew, unfortunately, wishes to join the army. - D. M.  
  
NOTES  
  
1. In 1907, the Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society joined with several other smaller societies and formed the Royal Society of Medicine, thusly shortening their name to less of a mouthful.  
  
2. Dr William Wynn Westcott was a member of the Freemasons, the Societas Rosicrucian in Anglia (of which he was elected Supreme Magus in 1892) and Mme. Helena Blavatsky's Theosophical Society. He founded the Esoteric Order of the Golden Dawn with two fellow Rosicrucians, one of whom was Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers. He also wrote several medical papers on suicide and alcoholism and was appointed Deputy Coroner for Northeast London and Central Middlesex in 1881.  
  
3. Sir William Withey Gull, one of the possible suspects in the Jack the Ripper case, (whom I am sure did actually clean his scalpels) died in 1890, apparently of a stroke, and was buried in Thorpe-Le-Soken, Essex in an unusually large grave in the churchyard behind the Bell Inn. If you are ever in the area, please give my regards to the landlady.  
  
4. There is some controversy as to whether Lord Byron or John Polidori was the author of 'The Vampyre'. When it was published in 1819, it was attributed to Byron, who later refused to acknowledge it as his, due to the bad blood between him and Polidori. Polidori stated that he had written it based on a tale Byron had told in the much publicised stopover in the villa by Lake Geneva where Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' was engendered.  
  
5. See 'The Adventure of the Empty House', Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and 'Flashman and the Tiger', George MacDonald Fraser.  
  
6. The Short Magazine Lee Enfield (SMLE) was developed after the third Boer War and used as the standard British rifle from 1902 through the Great (First World) War. It was probably finally taken out of commission due to arms developments in the Second World War. Colonel Moran must have had one of the very first ones. A jezail is a local-made Afghani rifle.  
  
7. See Lovecraft's 'Through the Gates of the Silver Key' and Brian Lumley's 'The Burrowers Beneath'. 


End file.
